


Rebuilding a Home, Rebuilding a Soul

by sheispowerful



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bed-Wetting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 04, Rebuilding the Hale House, References to Depression, Slow Build, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18813250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheispowerful/pseuds/sheispowerful
Summary: Stiles just graduated and is expecting a nice, boring party at Scott's house when his dad tells him that Derek is back in town.  When they see each other for the first time in forever at the graduation party, Derek is all soft smiles and healed scars, but Stiles is still hurt.  Stiles is broken, but he's not unwilling to heal.  Maybe Derek can help with that.





	1. Dude, fuck off.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. It is the first one I've written in six years, so go easy on me. If you see anything particularly bad about it, feel free to leave it in the comments. Also, the only trigger warnings I can think to mention are discussions about the Hale house fire (nothing graphic), brief body image talk, and hints toward post traumatic stress. If you can think of anything else, let me know!

Stiles walked out of the doors to his high school for the final time, dad in tow. Graduation ceremonies are long and arduous processes that literally only benefit whoever receives the money everyone pays for caps, gowns, professional photographs, etc. Personally, the ritual never really appealed to him. He knows that he’s lucky to have graduated, near death experiences and all, and that graduation is a privilege a lot of people don't have. However, the sticky heat of the California summer fucking sucks when hundreds and hundreds of people are crammed together in a tiny-ass auditorium because the the principle thought it was going to rain...It didn’t. Stiles throws himself into the front seat of his jeep with a groan. “Dad...Pops...Father-o-mine...Do we seriously have to go to Scott’s for the party? I’m exhausted after suffering through that.” “Son, shut up and drive. You know you guys are going to have fun. Plus, I heard a certain someone is giving graduation presents that come in a certain shade of Benjamin green.” John replies with a raise of his eyebrows. This spurs Stiles into action. As he pulls out of the parking lot and makes his way to Scott’s house he asks, “Who’s this mysterious person I need to thank for funding the poor?” “One, you’re not poor. We are a comfortable lower-middle class and there’s nothing wrong with that. Two, not a mystery. Apparently, Derek came back from wherever the hell he ran off to and has a gift for the pack. Something about using the insurance money responsibly.” This caused Stiles to swerve. “DAD! What the fuck?! Why didn’t you tell me? This is NEED TO KNOW information!” “Watch your mouth, son. You're 18 and graduated, but I’ll still ground you.” Stiles took a deep breath to calm his quickly building nerves. This was not a part of his plan. Not just the plan for today, but his life plan. Once Derek left, Stiles assumed he was never coming back. He wasn’t bitter about it. Stiles was sad for a few weeks (months), but he knew it was best for Derek’s mental health that he get away from the death, destruction, torture, and general shit that Beacon Hills is known for.

***

Stiles parked the jeep on the street across from Scott’s house. Sure, most of the pack carpooled in one manner or another, but there were still about 4 cars crammed in Scott’s small driveway and directly in front of Scott’s house. There was no Camaro in sight. Maybe Derek decided not to come after all. Stiles was shocked out of his own anxiety induced brain vomit when his dad slammed his door, exiting the jeep. He started across the street before turning back towards his son. “You okay kid?” “Yeah, dad. Just need a minute. Still wound up from the graduation crowd.” His dad shrugged his shoulders and wandered inside, hugging someone that greeted him at the door. Probably Melissa, Stiles thought. Unable to shake the feeling of nervousness, Stiles just sighed and shook out his hair. It is much shorter than when Derek saw him last. Stiles buzzed it all off after a particularly nasty fight with a ghoul. The creature almost got the chance to kill Stiles when it grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ thick hair. Never again. Whenever Stiles feels hair touch his ears, it makes his skin crawl with anxiety. He wonders if Derek will like it. He personally thinks he looks like a twelve year old, but whatever. When Stiles thinks of Derek, a familiar fondness grows in his chest and an even more familiar heat grows in his groin. Before Derek left, Stiles fell for him in a pity and hero worship kind of way- all impressed with his fighting skills, big muscles, and tragic backstory. Now, Stiles respects him. He gets Derek’s terse mannerisms and closed off personality. Stiles wouldn’t want to let people in either if his entire family was burned alive by someone he thought he trusted.

 

The time came when Stiles was finally ready to go in. As Stiles approached the house, he heard laughter inside. Unfamiliar laughter. Stiles let himself in and was met with a particularly interesting sight. Derek Hale. Derek’s head was thrown back as laughter forced its way out of his mouth, face red with the strength of it. As soon as Stiles breached the living room, Derek’s head snapped towards him, face stretching into a small smile. “Stiles I-...Hello. It’s been a while.” Derek moves towards Stiles, arms raised as if aiming to hug him. Stiles stumbles back, shock on his face, and pushes at Derek's outstretched arms. “Dude, fuck off. Jesus fucking Christ.” Now that is not exactly how Stiles wanted their first meeting to go, but fuck. Stiles stumbles out of the room and out the back kitchen door for some air, already overwhelmed with the party. The entire room, comprised of Melissa, Chris, John, Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Allison, froze and looked towards Derek with a collective wince. Derek just looked between them and the half-open kitchen door with a look of bewilderment on his face. John stood up and said, “Don’t worry, son. A lot of things have happened while you were away, not all good. Especially not for him. He’ll come back in when he’s ready.”

 

After that, the talking picked back up again almost as if moments like this were normal, but Derek was still glancing towards the back door every minute or so with a pinched look of worry on his face. After an hour, gives in to his worry and goes to check on Stiles. Derek finds Stiles rocking in a rocking chair with his eyes closed. Derek first thinks that he’s asleep, but Stiles cracks an eye open when the porch creaks under Derek’s weight. “What do you want, Derek?” Stiles sighs, eyes closing again. “I just want to apologize. I shouldn’t assume that you want me around. I treated you poorly before I left. I’ll never be able to-” The words die in Derek’s throat as Stiles cuts Derek off with a raise of his hand. “As much as I appreciate this apology and think that you need to say it, I don’t actually need to hear it. We’re cool, dude. You seem different in a good way, so no hard feelings. Time treated you well, Derek.” Eyes still closed and chair still rocking, Stiles’ voice grew soft as the words trailed out. “You seem different too, Stiles. Not in a good way.” Derek said with concern. “Wow. Thanks, man. Way to make a guy feel special, asshole. I know I’m not a ten or anything, but I’m a six and a half on a good day.” Stiles said with a snort and a roll of his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You look handsome. I’d give you an honest rating of nine if I didn’t find rating people’s bodies a frankly juvenile and hateful thing to do.” Derek said with a slight layer of annoyance in his otherwise calm demeanor. He sits next to Stiles in the free chair when Stiles replies. “Great. I’m hot apparently, but I’m also juvenile and hateful.” Stiles rolls his eyes even harder this time. He doesn’t know what to think of this Derek. This open, honest, body positive, and _thinks he’s handsome_ Derek. “No you’re not. You’re self-deprecating in a not so funny way that makes it seem like you’ve got issues that I should probably know about if it isn’t something you like keeping private. I want to stick around, Stiles. Melissa told me you’ve decided against college for now and want to focus on ‘finding yourself’, so I know something is wrong. I’m sorry about the hug thing too. I figured you’d still be the touchy, lacks spatial awareness guy I left behind.” Derek says softly with something in his eyes that Stiles mistakes for pity. “Well I’m not that guy, so fuck off man. Near death experiences will change a guy. You of all people should know that, Mr. Full Shift Wolfman.” Stiles digs at Derek with an edge in his voice, clearly looking for a fight. All Stiles gets is a sigh from Derek and a gentle smile. “Therapy changes a guy too. My therapist, a friend that’s in-the-know about all things supernatural, has really helped me. I can send you her number if you want?” Derek asks Stiles with an open face full of honesty and all those stupid things people feel when they try to “fix” people. “Honestly, Derek. As great as I’m sure therapy was for you, it’s not for me. After my mom died, Dad threw me in therapy and the therapist was manipulative and a creep. It triggers me just going into their office, so please fuck off with your well-meaning advice.” Stiles sighs and runs a hand over his almost bald head. He can’t deal with this right now. He doesn’t know how to respond to the open look on Derek’s face and the kindness in his words. “How about physical labor?” Derek interrupts Stiles’ train wreck of thoughts. “What?” “Something for you to do over the summer. Exercise helps with stress and anxiety, I’ve heard. Releases good hormones and all that.” Derek says with a shrug of his shoulders and looks away from Stiles, eyes trailing along the backyard. Stiles looks at him for a moment before responding. “Sure, I guess. I was probably just going to sit on the couch until inspiration struck about what to do, but since you’re offering, what do you have in mind?” “I’m rebuilding my family home. I have permits ready and a plan. I was going to do it on my own, but I could use your help if you’re willing.” Derek said nonchalantly, as if talking about rebuilding the house his family was murdered in was no big deal. Stiles blanched. “Dude! Are you sure? That’s kinda sensitive stuff. I don’t know shit about building anything. I utilize duct tape for 90% of my home repairs!” “It’s okay, Stiles. I’ll teach you. It’s actually really fun, despite all the hard work and slow progress. I can even pay you. How does $15 an hour sound? I’ll throw in lunch for free. Just show up whenever you have free t-” Stiles cuts him off. “Make it $10 an hour Monday through Friday, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” They discuss the plans with the house while everyone else continues with the graduation party inside. They talk for hours about everything and nothing. Derek tells Stiles of all the progress he’s made with therapy and with his wolf, and honestly Stiles feels that warm feeling in his chest become a little more real with every soft word Derek says to him, trusting him with his story. They only part once it gets dark and Stiles’ dad comes out to the back porch to retrieve him. They exchange phone numbers and say goodbye, a small parting smile on Derek’s face.

***

When Stiles returns home, he showers and gets ready for bed. By the time he is done, there is a notification blinking on his cellphone where it sits on his bed.

**Derek- See you Monday bright and early**

**Stiles- how early is ‘bright and early’ again?**

**Derek- 8am. You can be a little late if you want. I won’t mind.**

**Stiles- Fuck man, fine. Bright and early it is.**

They exchange a few more messages before Stiles finally plugs in his phone and calls it a night. Something about the interactions he’s had with Derek feel so surreal, almost like he’s dreaming. How did this become his life? One second, Derek is a memory, a person Stiles thinks about when he rubs one out alone at night or when he needs strength to get through a particularly tough day. Now, Derek is real. They’re talking like two adult friends that do adult things together like recommend therapy and negotiate wage. Derek treats Stiles with respect, not like a spastic teen with ADHD. As Stiles lays in bed and stares at his ceiling, he can only wonder what other new things might happen between him and Derek.


	2. Do you want turkey or ham?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few warnings, there are non-graphic descriptions of nightmares and a semi-(hopefully not really) intense description of sleep paralysis. Also, there's descriptions of bed wetting after night terrors. Let me know if I missed anything important. Enjoy!

  
  


Bile pools in Stiles’ mouth, thick and sour.  Smoke fills his nostrils, threatening to suffocate him.  The smell of rot and infection invade the air. Claws gouge at his eyes.  Teeth tear at his flesh. Blood coats his hand. Stiles falls through nightmares like walking through rooms of a demented fun house, each memory worse than the last.  He knows he is dreaming, but he can’t force himself awake. He’s never been able to. Stiles just sleeps, heart pounding and chest heaving with air that doesn’t come quick enough.  When Stiles’ eyes finally fly open, there is a shadow in the corner of his room. Between the desk and the window, the shape inches towards him. Stiles is unable to move. His arms feel like cement and his skin feels like it’s crawling with thousands of insects.  Sleep paralysis. Also not a new thing. This familiarity doesn’t stop Stiles from trying to force his way out of his own mind, his prison. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe. The creature moves closer, so close that Stiles begins to feel suffocated from its presence.  Once the shadow is completely covering his body, Stiles gains the courage to open his eyes, to finally face the shadow. Even in the dark, Stiles knows the face that’s only millimeters away from his own. Stiles screams. He screams until his throat his raw. He screams until his voice gives out and he is forced to lay in silence.  He lays on his back, chest moving to draw in shallow breaths. Hovering over him, staring back at Stiles for what seems like an eternity, is his own face.

***

When morning finally arrives, Stiles gets himself out of bed.  Well, ‘morning’ and ‘gets’ are relative terms because it’s currently 3:48am and Stiles stumbles more than walks to his dresser for a change of clothes.  After a long shower to rid himself of the drying sweat and piss that clings to his body like a second skin at this point, Stiles yanks the sheets and mattress protector off of his bed and throws them into the wash.  His dad already has a clean pair of sheets and the spare mattress protector folded up on the floor by his bedroom door. Stiles really hopes he didn’t wake up his dad during the night and that the sheets are the result of some foresight from the Sheriff.  Shrugging off any lingering guilt, Stiles writes a note for his dad, grabs his keys, and heads out towards his jeep.

***

When Stiles’ jeep finally rolls to a stop in front of the decrepit Hale house, it is 5:02am.  Unsurprisingly, Derek is sitting in the dewy grass and munching on what looks like honey roasted peanuts.  Stiles gets out of the car and clears his throat as he approaches Derek, more for courtesy than for a lack of Derek hearing him.  “Can I grab a few of those? I didn’t think to eat any breakfast before I headed over?” Stiles asks with an awkward shuffle of his feet.“I figured you’d be sleeping at this time of day since your idea of ‘bright and early’ was eight,” Derek says with a nonjudgmental raise of his eyebrows.  He hands Stiles the can of peanuts. “Yeah well…” Stiles flops down beside Derek and pops a few peanuts in his mouth, ass getting damp from the moist ground, “There’s nothing like a nightmare or seven that gets a guy moving a little earlier than appreciated.” Stiles continues to eat the peanuts, trying and failing to ignore Derek.  Derek just looks at Stiles with a blank expression on his face and nods slowly. “So, I was thinking that first we could knock down a few of the unsalvageable wa-” Derek begins, but Stiles interrupts him. “I get that you’re all _zen_ now, but aren’t you even going to ask what I’m talking about? About the nightmares?”  Derek rolls his eyes and stands, brushing at the bits of grass that cling to the ass of his grey Nike shorts.  “Wasn’t planning on it. I’ve got enough of my own to ask about yours. I’m willing to listen if you want to tell me, but unless you feel comfortable sharing then I don’t want to know.  It’s not my place to ask for personal information like that.” Derek walks away towards the porch and leaves Stiles sitting on the damp grass, mouth open in surprise. Stiles scrambles after Derek and almost brains himself on the porch rail as one of the stairs crumble under his feet.  “Watch yourself. It’s not bright enough out yet for you to be safe in here. I can see, but you can’t. If you want to help this early, I’ll buy some floodlights, but until then you need to stay close.” Derek lets go of where he grabbed Stiles’s shoulder to stop his fall. The place where Derek grabbed him feels extra hot, like Derek’s hand left an imprint on Stiles’ skin.  Stiles’ cheeks burn and he feels like he had been scolded by a kindergarten teacher, all soft words and meaningful lessons. Well...a super hot kindergarten teacher. Now Stiles is thinking about Derek in a sweater vest and sitting with his legs crossed while reading the Rainbow Fish to a bunch of kids. Why does that turn him on? With a shake of his head to rid himself of those unfortunately pleasant thoughts, Stiles follows Derek’s path up the stairs and into the house.   

 

Sticking close to Derek was easier than Stiles imagined.  There wasn’t a lot of space to move around the house, even with its large size.  Burnt pieces of furniture litter the ground. Cracks run through most of the hardwood floor and pieces of ceiling lay scattered about.  Stiles shivers. This house has already seen enough death. Stiles didn’t want to add to it by leaning against a wall that’s seconds away from collapsing on him.  Unlike Derek previously said, they didn’t start by immediately tearing down walls. They didn’t start working on the house at all. The first thing they did was bring everything removable outside and place it in piles on the lawn.  Derek carefully walked through the house and tested the floorboards’ strength, finding them fine enough for Stiles to walk on. However, for most of this process, Stiles worked alone unless he needed Derek’s help to move something heavy like a large piece of furniture.  Derek spent most of his morning sorting through the piles, dividing them into further piles destined for the garbage, donation, or keeping. Unfortunately, the garbage pile kept growing as the morning went by, with little being added to the donate or keep piles. If Stiles saw a tear or two trail down Derek’s face as he gently put a half burnt stuffed bear into the trash pile, Stiles didn’t say anything.  He just continued to pick his way carefully through the house until the entire first floor was clear.

 

When the clock on the old radio Derek set up near the porch finally read 11:30am, he and Stiles stop working and collapse next to each other on the grass.  “Do you want turkey or ham?” Derek asks, two sub sandwiches in his hands from the cooler that sits beside him. “Doesn’t matter. Feed meeee,” Stiles groans.  He flops like a fish onto his back and grunts when a sub hits him square in the stomach. Hmm. Looks like today is a ham sub kind of day. Still laying on his back, Stiles takes huge bites of the sandwich, only pausing to gulp down water from one of the thousand reusable water bottles Derek brought with him.  When Stiles asked Derek about it earlier, Derek only shrugged and said something about the environment that Stiles didn’t really listen to. “Derek? I know I don’t really have a right to ask you this, but are you doing okay? With...ya know.” Stiles waves a hand carelessly towards the house and the large piles of objects that litter the yard.  Derek looks at Stiles, then at the house, then at the piles, then back at Stiles. “Honestly, I don’t know yet. I think I’m doing okay right now. It’s hard, yes, but I think I needed to do this for a while. Get rid of the things that tether my family’s memories here in a negative way even though they’ve been long gone from this world.” Derek looks away from Stiles and breathes a long sigh and continues, “I think that you being here helps too.  You being here reminds me that, even though they’re gone, I’m not alone.” Stiles props himself up onto his elbows and stares at Derek. Derek is looking away from Stiles, but Stiles can still see most of his face. Derek still has a beard like Stiles remembers, but instead of stubble, it’s thick and reaching Real Beard Status in a way that Stiles is honestly proud of. Derek’s face is more relaxed and he has less wrinkles than Stiles remembers. Not that wrinkles are bad or anything, but it makes Stiles wonder. “Derek, how old are you?” Derek looks at Stiles like he’s speaking a different language. “What?” “Your age? What is it?” Stiles rolls his eyes.  Derek huffs out a small laugh and rolls his eyes too, albeit with far less attitude. “I’m 26.” “Since when?!” Stiles shouts incredulously. “You look 35, dude! Like seriously! You look like a total DILF!” Stiles shouts before he can stop himself. His cheeks flame bright red and his heart stutters in a way that he just knows Derek can hear. Derek, being the apparently non-problematic guy that he is now, just laughs and throws an apple at Stiles. “You’re 18 right?” “Yeah,” Stiles replies, suspicion creeping into his voice and a tiny seed of hope flaring in his chest. “Good,” Derek nods with a smirk. “I won’t be sent to jail for endangering the welfare of a minor if you help me work on the house.”

 

After lunch, Stiles and Derek move to the second and third floor of the house.  The task of moving the heavy items down a million flights of stairs gets so frustrating that, at one point, Derek actually throws a long piece of broken ceiling out of the window.  Fortunately, nothing else gets thrown out the window because the ceiling piece got too close to Stiles’ jeep for his comfort. When the clock reads six, the house is pretty much free of any debris and furniture.  Derek calls it a night. Stiles goes to grab his keys and hop into the jeep when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Wait. You almost forgot your money.” Derek pushes a crisp one hundred dollar bill and a fifty dollar bill into his hand, and Stiles almost collapses.  “Dude! This is way too much money. We agreed on $10 an hour starting at eight, not whatever this is. I’ll be fine with the hundred.” Stiles goes to put the fifty back in Derek’s hand, but Derek jerks it back with a laugh. The sudden movement leaves Stiles’ hand continuing with the forward momentum and hitting Derek in his chest.  Holy God. Derek is ripped. Stiles had seen Derek without his shirt on and has even touched his body. The difference between this time and those times is that, now, Stiles isn’t terrified to the point of crying like a baby. Stiles flushed and stumbles back a little, mumbling apologies. “I see some things never change,” Derek laughs. “You’re still as clumsy as I remember.” “Yeah. Whatever, assface. I don’t need to take this abuse. I’ll keep the fifty, but I’ll consider it my graduation present since I kinda blew that whole thing over the weekend,” Stiles grumbles and shoves the bills into his dirty pocket.  

***

His bed comes as a welcomed relief when Stiles finally falls into it after a quick shower and a pleasant dinner with his father.  It is barely ten, but Stiles is exhausted and his muscles ache in that pleasant way that means they got a good workout. Before completely turning in for the night, Stiles sends Derek a message and instantly gets a reply.

 

**Stiles- thnx for today. i enjoyed the work**

**Derek- No problem.  See you at 8 tomorrow?**

**Stiles- duh. like you could get rid of me now, throwing money around like that**

 

Derek replies with the middle finger emoji and Stiles snorts out a laugh.  Laying his head on his pillow, he falls asleep faster than he has in months.  However, despite the day of hard work and ham sandwiches, Stiles still wakes up the next morning before four.  Crawling out of his bed, covered in sweat and piss, Stiles makes his way out of his bed and starts his daily ritual of showering and washing his bed sheets.  


	3. Is it...is it okay if I hold your hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few warnings: Stiles get's made fun of for his bed wetting 
> 
> Sorry if this chapter is garbage. I did not have the time to edit it or even finish it in a timely manner because my job is killing me. Hopefully the grammar is not too hideous. If you think of any tags I can add or any warnings I need to add, comment for me! I'm struggling :) .

After three weeks of working on the house together, Derek and Stiles finally manage to remove everything that was damaged from the structure, basically leaving only the bones of the old house standing.  There aren’t many walls, the hardwood flooring has been removed, and the counter tops, fireplaces, cabinets, sinks, and bathtubs have all been donated or thrown out. Standing in front of the now skeletal structure one late afternoon, Stiles asks “So...I’m assuming this is when the real work begins? The _let’s get down to business_ montage and all that?” Derek rolls his eyes.  The Mulan reference was not lost on him. “I figured we could wait until tomorrow for the rest of the pack.  I’ve been thinking that I need more help than just you if I want to get into this place before the winter hits.”  Derek brushes the dirt and dust that covers his hands on the backs of his cutoff jean shorts. Stiles personally thinks the dirty jorts make Derek look like the cover model of a cheap construction porno magazine, but that’s besides the point.  “The rest of the...Why? You’re the one who said you wanted to do this on your own,” Stiles states uncomfortably. Before graduation, Stiles did his best to hang with the rest of the pack at school and attend any necessary meetings about the supernatural problems that arise every so often.  Scott is the alpha and his best buddy since birth, so it wasn’t that hard to pretend like he was having a good time during the movie nights and final exam study groups that Scott insisted on having. However, since school let out and Beacon Hills decided to chill with the supernatural fuckery for once, Stiles has had no reason to make a lot of contact with the pack, not even Scott, aside from a few friendly check-in messages.  Derek could sense the hesitation in Stiles’ voice and turns to look towards him from his spot near the now-removed porch. “Is there a problem? I thought you all were still friends. Scott told me I was welcomed to be a part of the pack again if I promised I’d stick around this time. If there’s a problem going on I’d like to know about it, if that’s okay?” Stiles just looked at

Derek and sighs, “No problem.  I just haven’t really spoke to them in a while.” At this, Derek’s expression turns worried. “Does that have something to do with the things I told you I wouldn’t ask about?” “I’d be a liar to say it didn’t.  I just need a little space from them. They all have a tendency to ask a lot of questions or assume they know how I feel because they’ve experienced ‘all the same things’ I have,” Stiles says with a roll of his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words.  Derek and Stiles move from standing in front of the house and sit in the fold-out camper chairs Derek borrowed from the little old lady that Derek is renting a room from while the house is under construction. Apparently Derek is a more than welcomed addition to the old woman’s house because Derek always cooks her breakfast and does minor repairs before he leaves to go work on the house.  “Have you tried talking to them? Scott can be dense sometimes and Erica _mildly_ overbearing, but I’m sure they mean well.”  “That’s the problem. They are trying _too_ much to relate to the poor little human.  It’s like they pity me because they know I get scared.  Scared that I’m going to get hurt in a way that a werewolf could heal from, but not a human.  Scott even offered to give me the bite. I guess he thought that would magically fix everything,”  Stiles huffs and slides further into the canvas chair. When Scott offered him the bite, Stiles almost threw up.  Not because he hates werewolves or anything, obviously, but because Stiles barely recognizes himself now as he is, much less if he were to turn into a completely different species.  Derek nods like he knows what Stiles is talking about and doesn’t press about the issue. It annoys Stiles so much that Derek never pushes Stiles anymore. In the past, it seemed like Derek got off on pushing every button he could find and questioning Stiles about literally everything.  Now, Derek takes Stiles’ complaints and stories of tragedy with a nod of his head. Sometimes, if Derek doesn’t think he’s overstepping, he offers Stiles a weird piece of advice like drink a certain tea before bed to relax or go get a massage to appease his aching muscles. Nothing he does makes Stiles angry at him and that’s what makes Stiles so angry.  Derek is genuinely trying his best to be a _good guy_ and Stiles just sits there and nods back on his good days and outright belittles him for being a fucking tea sipping hippie on his worst days.  Even though Derek never mentions the nightmares, his resistance to constrictive touching, and the scars that Derek’s definitely seen littering Stiles’ torso, Stiles feels a little lighter.  He still has soul crushing nightmares and can’t stand being around people for too long, but Stiles enjoys something in his life again. He genuinely finds peace in working in relative silence with Derek almost every day.  While at the house, Stiles can turn off his brain and focus of the task in front of him without worrying about demon foxes or feral alphas.

***

Tomorrow comes faster than Stiles thought it would.  For the first time in weeks, Stiles sleeps past 5am. When his eyes flutter open, his alarm clock reads 5:24 am.  Shit. He was supposed to be at the Hale house by 6:15 am to meet with the pack and go over specifics about the house.  Stiles scrambles out of bed and rips off his bed sheets. He might have slept in relatively late compared to other days, but the night terrors still plagued his sleep.  Stiles hastily threw everything he could in the washing machine, not bothering to remake his bed. After a thirty second shower, just enough to rinse off without soap, Stiles writes his dad a note and scrambles out the door.

***

At 6:21 am, Derek’s speaking lightly to Allison about her plans to teach archery at the local summer camp when Stiles’ jeep roars up the long driveway that winds through the preserve.  When Stiles pulls to a stop, the entire pack is looking expectantly at him when tumbles out of the jeep. Stiles stumbles to a halt when he sees everyone staring at him, cheeks flushing pink and eyes darting everywhere but at them.  “Sorry guys. I forgot to set an alarm.” He left out the part where he thought he wouldn’t need one in the first place. “No problem, man!” Scott says with a dimpled smile and slaps Stiles on the shoulder. Stiles winces at the sudden contact, but smiles gratefully.  “So, what’s the plan for today?” Stiles says and claps his hands as he walks towards the rest of the group. “Derek hasn’t-” Erica starts, but then quickly halts, nose wrinkling in displeasure. “What gives, Stilinski? You smell like a public restroom.” Stiles stops his advancement and wrinkles his face in confusion.  He’s getting ready to say something smart when it hits him. His heart jumps erratically in his chest. He didn’t use soap when he showered this morning. They can probably smell the waterfall sized piss he left in his bed this morning. Erica is looking at him like he’s dirty and the rest of the wolves are glancing around uncomfortably.  Well, except for Derek. Derek looks like he’s twenty seconds away from ripping Erica’s arms off. Stiles heart continues to beat faster and faster. He begins to sweat and it seems like the world is closing in on him. Blackness forms around the edges of his vision and, like a complete coward, Stiles promptly passes out.

***

When Stiles woke up, he’s laying in his own bed.  He groans as he sits up and is shocked to see Derek of all people sitting in his desk chair and reading a random textbook Stiles hasn’t sold yet.  “Dude. Why does my head feel like it’s been hit with a baseball bat?” Stiles moans and leans back against his headboard. Derek closes his book and looks sheepishly at him.  “Well, when you passed out after...you know...you fell backwards and hit your head on the jeep. Scott tried to catch you, but you know Scott,” Derek said with an awkward half-laugh.  The memories came rushing back to Stiles and, once again, it felt like the world was caving in on him. “Hey hey relax,” Derek says, coming to sit on the foot of the bed and reaching a hand towards Stiles, but stopping right before touching him.  Great. Now even chilled out, nice guy Derek doesn’t even want to touch Stiles after finding out. Stiles shrinks in on himself and says, “You can go now. Thanks for taking me back home. I’m fine.” “Stiles...I already knew about it,” Derek says hesitantly, eyes nervously glancing at Stiles’ face.  Stiles’ heart freezes in his chest. “You-you _knew_ ?! And you didn’t say anything?” Angry tears begin to fill Stiles’ eyes.  He feels betrayed. Not by Derek really, but by his own scent. “I didn’t say anything because its not-” Derek starts but Stiles interrupts him. “Yeah, you bastard.  I know. It’s ‘not your place’ to say anything,” Stiles says in a condescending voice. “You could’ve- you could’ve at least warned me about it! Warned me that you could tell!” “I didn’t want to invade your privacy like that,” Derek says with a sigh.  “You’re going through a lot right now and I didn’t want you to stop coming around because you thought that I think you’re…” “Thought what? That I piss my bed like a five year old? That I’m a coward?” Stiles bites out at Derek. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on top of his knees.  Stiles has a million thoughts running through his mind about what _exactly_ Derek could think about him.  Those thoughts turn to dust when Derek says, “You’re brave, Stiles.  You’re brave and strong and smart. You’re even scared, but that’s not bad.  It keeps you from being like Scott, being stupid sometimes,” Derek says with a poor attempt at a half smile.  Stiles couldn’t help but to let out a snort at that. “Stiles, you run into battle with the rest of the pack with just as much courage and heart, even though you don’t have the claws or the teeth.” Derek scoots closer to Stiles and raises his hand hesitantly.  It hovers over Stiles’ hand. When Derek looks at Stiles, Stiles only nods. He doesn’t trust words at the moment. The knot in his throat wouldn’t allow them to come out anyways. Derek’s hand feels warm and strong against Stiles’. They’re softer than Stiles imagined, maybe because werewolves probably can’t get callouses.  It makes Stiles feel grounded in a weird way. Not a fairy tale kind of way. It’s not like Stiles felt sparks fly or anything from a simple touch, but it makes him remember. It makes Stiles remember that not everyone is out to get him. Not every touch is meant to be painful. “Derek I-” Stiles begins to unleash the inevitable brain vomit of feelings that he’s currently experiencing.  The tidal wave of anxieties, fears, and love that crushes Stiles’ waking and dreaming hours. Stiles knows he’s not ready, but he feels like he owes Derek something in return for not judging him the way Stiles judges himself. However, Derek holds up his spare hand and stops him before he can work himself up. “Hey. Why don’t we go back to the house? I sent everyone else packing for the day, so just us?”  Derek says with a hopeful look in his eyes and a stiff set of his jaw, almost like he’s expecting Stiles to say no. Stiles’ lips creep up slightly in the corners and he replies hesitantly, “Just us?” “Yeah, just us.”

***

Derek and Stiles spend the rest of the day planning.  Derek already knows what he wants the inside of the structure to look like.  He knows that he wants a dark hardwood flooring to cover all of the main rooms of the house, except the kitchen.  For the kitchen and the bathrooms, plus a little area planned for laundry, he wants a light brown tile. Stiles agreed with this choice.  If this was really going to be a house fit for a bunch of wolves, the floor probably shouldn’t show much dirt. Derek let Stiles pick out options for paint.  So far they’re caught between a nice creme toned off-white and a true white. Derek thinks the actual white would contrast nicely with the dark floors, but Stiles thinks it would be too hard to keep clean.

  
“What is with you and the cleanliness of this place?” Derek says with a huff.  They’re sitting of the folding chairs outside again, arguing about the paint. “I’m helping you rebuild this place and I’ll be damned if it looks like a fucking mess once we’re done,” Stiles snaps.  “So you plan on sticking around once, ya know,” Derek waves a hand towards the house, “all of this is actually done?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well duh. I’m not helping you just for the money, dude. I do actually enjoy your company.” “That’s a first,” Derek laughs.  The smile on his face is bright and carefree. He looks like a jolly young Santa because of his growing beard and newfound ability to laugh. Stiles can’t look away. He’s not used to people laughing around him anymore, much less _Derek._  Derek stops laughing when Stiles says,  “I really appreciate what you did for me today.  Well, what you’re doing for me always I guess.You’re treating me normally and I haven’t had that in a while.” Derek does that thing he’s been doing lately and just simply smiles a small smile.  It infuriates Stiles because he looks so handsome doing it, but he doesn’t have the chance to say anything else when Derek asks, “Is it...is it okay if I hold your hand?” There’s a shadow of vulnerability in Derek’s eyes.  Why? Stiles has no idea. Stiles swallows the lump that’s grown in his throat and nods. Hesitantly, Derek reaches the short distance between their two chairs, gently picks up Stiles’ newly calloused hand, and rests it on the arm of his chair.  They sit there, not saying anything, for what feels like an eternity. Together, they sit in silence and listen to the sounds of the preserve fill the space around them. Birds chirp, a breeze rustles the tree branches, and squirrels chatter away in the foliage.  Derek’s hand feels both weightless and heavy where it touches his. Instead of saying anything to ruin this pretty much actual fairy tale moment, Stiles just leans his head back in his chair and closes his eyes with a gentle smile playing on his lips.


	4. Jesus Christ, Scott.  I’m not going to kill myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references suicide and depression. This may be triggering to some, but I wanted to include it because this type of interaction actually happens. Also, this chapter is a bit longer than others because I wanted to unpack some semi-heavy things and more thoroughly introduce the pack members. ALSO: I did not edit this AT ALL because I'm the worst. If you see something gross, just let me know and I'll fix it. Leave nice comments too because they make me happy and because I require too much validation. Thanks and enjoy

The next few weeks simultaneously fly by and crawl by for Stiles.  He and Derek continue to work on the house. Replacing the drywall, the floors, and pretty much every other surface of the place means that Stiles and Derek don’t have a lot of time to chit chat about their nonexistent relationship.  Aside from the typical ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’, Derek only talks with Stiles while they’re working if he needs to teach Stiles something. He keeps it semi-professional during the work day, but that doesn’t mean Derek forgets about Stiles.  As soon as they call it quits after a long day of work, Derek always forces Stiles into the folding chair in front of the porch and makes sure to ask how Stiles is  _ really  _ doing.  He’s never pushy and never pries for information that Stiles isn’t willing to give.  He’s just doing that thing that all good friends should do and makes sure Stiles isn’t going to throw himself off a really tall building anytime soon.  Derek wants Stiles to know that Derek is there and that there are resources for Stiles if he ever does choose to get help. Derek, with his own mental scars and depressing backstory, knows that no one can force someone to get help if they aren’t ready.

 

Today is one of those days where Derek forces Stiles into his folding chair.  The sun has set and the fireflies are flitting about, one settling on the arm of Stiles’ chair.  The air is thick and muggy from the remnants of the hot summer day, but the air is quickly cooling to a much more bearable temperature.  From a cooler at his side, Derek offers Stiles a reusable bottle filled with water. Stiles gratefully takes it and chugs about half of the contents before he has to come up for air.  “How’s John doing? Did he like the lasagna I sent over?” Derek asks after he finishes drinking from his own bottle. “He’s doing great. He’s actually going to the gym twice a week now because his doctor got on him about it.  Also, he loved it. Didn’t even complain that it was 95% vegetables,” Stiles laughs out. Yesterday, Derek swung by the Stilinski house to drop off a healthy vegetarian lasagna that was honestly one of the best healthy things that Stiles has eaten in a long time.  “Good, good. How are you doing? You seem a little more...settled recently. More comfortable I guess,” Derek shrugs and turns to face more fully towards Stiles. “I guess you’re probably right. I’ve been thinking a lot recently that maybe I want to give the whole pack thing another try.  I haven’t seen Scott since that disaster a few weeks ago and it’s not like us to stay apart like that. I feel like...I feel like I’m not trying hard enough to make things right with them. I feel like my issues are making it hard for me to be a good friend, or a friend at all really.” Stiles sighs and tries not to get too emotional.  He knows Derek won’t judge him if he cries, but he’s trying to talk about things that upset him without resorting to tears. Derek’s eyebrows draw together and he says, “Stiles, sometimes illnesses make it difficult for people to be the friend that they used to be or that they should be, but it’s also important for you to take care of yourself.  You did what you needed to do to protect yourself and heal. If they really care about you, and I’m sure they do, they’ll understand if you just explain the situation to them. You don’t have to spill everything, but I’m sure you being honest with them with make them and you feel a lot better about the situation. It’s really brave that you want to meet up with them at all, especially after last time.”  Derek looks so sure of himself and Stiles that Stiles can’t help but relax a little. “What if they don’t want to see me? What if they think I’m a coward?” Stiles can’t help but let just one small tear slide down his cheek. Derek must see it because he leans closer to Stiles and brings his hand up to his cheek. With the lightest brush of his fingertips, Derek sweeps the tear away. Derek is now just inches away from Stiles’ face, but he doesn’t lean away.  Stiles lifts his eyes up to Derek’s and just stares, not trusting himself to say anything. “Stiles, I can’t say for sure what’s going to happen. You’ve been around them longer than me, so you know them better. I just know that if you want to try, then I’ll be there with you every step of the way. Trying, even if it doesn’t go the way you want, is better than not doing anything because of fear.” Derek takes Stiles’ hand and leans back in his chair. Stiles would be disappointed at the loss of the proximity, except that the feeling of Derek’s hand around his has quickly become one of Stiles’ favorite sensations.  “Thank you, Derek. Maybe we can take a break tomorrow and see if they want to come over to my house?” Stiles asks, his voice small. Derek just smiles, nods, and squeezes his hand in confirmation.

***

Stiles is about to burn a hole in his living room carpet with the amount of pacing he’s doing.  Last night, Derek sent out a message to the entire pack asking if they want to come over to the Stilinski residence for pizza and mutual apologies.  Apparently they did, so now Stiles and Derek are waiting for them to arrive. “What if they don’t show up? God. What if they  _ do  _ show up?!” Stiles cries and runs nervous fingers through his hair.  Derek just gets up from his place on the couch and gently untangles Stiles’ fingers from his hair.  “They are going to come and, when they do, we’re going to take it one extremely awkward step at a time.”  Stiles lets out a laugh that might sound a little manic and throws himself down where Derek was sitting just seconds ago.  Derek sits on the cushion next to Stiles, but leaves a respectable amount of room. “Derek...what if this is a mistake? What if I can’t make them  _ see _ ?” Stiles puts his head in his hands and tries to fight off the panic that’s building up in his chest.  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with making mistakes as long as you’re trying. We talked about this already.  I can’t promise you anything except for the fact that I’m not leaving you here alone, okay?” Derek says as he puts a hesitant hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  Stiles, head still in hands, leans into the comforting warmth of Derek’s side. 

 

As soon as Stiles manages to talk himself out of the dangerous shit hole that is his anxiety ridden brain, he hears a car door lightly slam outside of his house.  He jumps up onto his knees on the couch to peer out of the window. He doesn’t recognize the car, but he does recognize the curly blond hair of Issac and Allison’s nervous smile that comes bobbing up the driveway towards the door.  Derek takes the initiative, probably not needing to look to know who it is, and goes to open the door for them. As soon as Derek opens the door, Stiles sees Isaac standing there with his hand poised like he was going to knock. “Isaac. Allison. Welcome! Come have a seat.” Derek ushers the pair into the living room and guides them onto the love seat next to the main couch.  Stiles is perched hesitantly on the edge of the middle cushion and only gets more nervous when Allison doesn’t meet his eyes. Derek makes himself scarce, lying and saying he has something to do in the kitchen. For a moment, the three of them sit in awkward silence before Stiles builds up the nerve to speak. “Allison-” “Stiles-” They both start, but their words get caught in their throats as the other also starts to speak.  “You go,” Allison says with a pained look on her face. She looks a little paler than Stiles remembers. “I just...I just wanted to apologize. I know you can never forgive me for what I’ve done to you, so I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that I would never-” Stiles chokes out a sob and can’t keep the tears back any longer. Remembering the feeling of Allison’s blood on his hands, the image of the sword running her through at his command, it was too much for him.  He just shakes, retreating into his own mind and body as he faces the worst parts of himself.“Oh Stiles-” Allison doesn’t finish. She drops to her knees in front of Stiles’ seat on the couch and places a gentle hand on the side of his face, lightly forcing him to look into her eyes. “I’m not going to forgive you. Not because you don’t deserve it, but because you didn’t do anything wrong. That wasn’t you. I know you probably can’t see that right now, but I can. Everyone can. I don’t need to forgive you for something that you didn’t consent to, Stiles.” When looking into her bright brown eyes, Stiles can see a glimmer of something that doesn’t seem like disgust or hatred.  He can almost believe her. Almost. “How can you even stand to touch me? I’ve done so many things. So many terrible things. I’ve killed. Not even counting when I was that  _ thing _ , but as  _ me _ !” At this, Allison’s eyes harden. Stiles steels himself for the lashing he knows he deserves. “Listen to me,” Allison commands, “We’ve all killed, some killings more justified than others, but all for the greater good.  Stiles, you’ve saved our lives ten times over. Now, we’ve all grown up in some fucked up kind of way that makes it less...difficult…for us to do it. But you, your dad represents morality. You’ve grown up with hardship, but your family is  _ good _ .  It’s been harder for you to deal, I think, because you were meant to be better than we are, Stiles.  You and Scott, you weren’t meant for this kind of life, but it chose you. You need to reconcile with that.”  Stiles didn’t notice that Isaac moved to sit next to Allison on the floor until he took Allison’s hand from where it rested on Stiles’ face.  “Stiles, can I talk to you about some private things?” Isaac asks and Stiles can only nod his head. “I have had nightmares my entire life. Sometimes...sometimes I’d wake myself up screaming.  It only got worse when I became a werewolf because now, in my dreams, my father had claws and fangs instead of a baseball bat or liquor bottle.” Isaac gulps, eyes clouding. Stiles could tell the memories were taking their toll on him. “Isaac you don’t have to-” “Yes I do. I just want you to understand that, at least between the two of us, we don’t judge you. We get it. We’re not saying we understand, exactly. We just get that we all have things we struggle with, okay?” “Okay,” Stiles sighs and it feels as if his entire soul has left his body.  He feels hollow and empty at the onslaught of emotions he’s faced in the last few minutes. “Now if it’s okay with you, I’m going to sit back on the couch. My knees aren’t what they used to be after that wendigo attack when Scott accidentally hit me with his bicycle,” Allison jokes and sits back up on the love seat with Isaac. Stiles can’t help but laugh at the memory. Scott, trying to be the hero like always, came barreling down the street after the monster on his bicycle, but accidentally hit Allison and dislocated her kneecap.

***

Stiles, Isaac, and Allison slowly began warming up to semi-normal conversation with one another when Derek peeked his head into the room from his hiding spot in the kitchen.  “Can I come back in now?” “No one said you had to go, you doofus,” Stiles says and he rolls his eyes at Derek. When Derek takes his place next to Stiles, a little closer now that Stiles isn’t mid-breakdown, Isaac just raises an eyebrow at them both and continues listening to Allison talk about her college/post high school plans.

 

Before she can get into another long winded explanation of why she’s studying Spanish before becoming a police officer, Derek lets them know that Scott, Erica, and Boyd just arrived.  Unlike when Isaac and Allison arrived, Stiles does not almost have a panic attack. Now, that’s not to say he isn’t riddled with anxiety, but he just has a slightly better handle on it knowing that he has at least two friends that understand why he’s in such a precarious mental state at the moment.  When Derek opens the door, the first thing Stiles sees is Scott flying directly towards Stiles’. He gets hit with a giant warm mound of werewolf before he can even process that they’re actually in his house. “I’m so sorry, man. I’ve been the worst friend to you and I’ve been ignoring your needs. I’ve been reading all last night about the things I should’ve done when I realized you were having a bad time and I just now realized how much I screwed up and I just can’t believe I did that to you. Especially since you’ve been through hell and back and I just-”  “Bro calm down for a second and get the hell off me,” Stiles mumbles with a mouthful of Scotts hair. With a sheepish expression, Scott backs off and actually sits on a couch space instead of on Stiles. “Scott-” “Stiles, I’m sorry.” Scott sighs and looks genuinely ashamed of himself. “You don’t need to be sorry, Scott. We both did some things we’re not proud of and I think we just need to acknowledge our problems and help each other if we can,” Stiles pats Scott on his shoulder and gets a bright smile in response. Scott has always been his best friend. He knows Stiles better than anyone, or he used to. Either way, his bro is there for him and, even though Stiles used to have his doubts, he knows that Scott will do anything for him.  “Well the National Suicide Prevention Lifel-” Scott begins, but Stiles cuts him off. “Jesus Christ, Scott. I’m not going to kill myself.” Stiles looks horrified at Scott and half shoves him off the couch. “Well I didn’t know that! I didn’t know what to expect today!” Scott cries. “I read that if people want to hang out after being really sad or upset that they might be giving their last goodbyes and I-” “Oh jeez please stop that train of thought right now. I appreciate the effort, buddy, and you really seem like you’re coming from a good place. However, I’m gonna live. Jesus, Scott.” Stiles surveys the faces of everyone in the room and everyone, besides Scott, looks like they’re about to either shit their pants or pass out. Even Boyd, which is saying something. “That’s great, man!” Scott jumps off the floor and tries to go in for a hug, but before he can, Stiles cuts him off by holding up his hands. “I’m going to be completely honest with you guys, I’m having some problems with touching right now, so if you could just like...not… that would be great.  Or ask. That works too.” Scott looks a little hurt, but nods his head with a determined look on his face. Everyone else nods along too. Derek gives him an encouraging smile and a really dorky thumbs up, and then pushes Erica in front of him from where she was hiding behind Boyd. Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just does his best to look in her eyes from his seated position on the couch. She shifts hesitantly from foot to foot and finally says “I know what I said was really fucked up to you the other day. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know that you have...issues.” At this, Derek lets out a low rumble in his chest. “Not that I’m judging! Everyone has their demons and all that, but I am just so used to using negativity to look after myself that I didn’t think about your feelings. We’re a pack and pack isn’t supposed to treat each other like shit, okay? I’m sorry.” “I’m just going to address this now, since we are sorta already talking about it. I have nightmares. Everyone knows that already, somehow.” Stiles shoots Derek a look and Derek, being Derek, meets his gaze with a look of his own. “Sometimes, most times, I have...accidents because of my issues.” Stiles shoots another withering look at Erica. She, at least, has the decency to look humbled.  “I’m working on it. It’s gotten a little better, but still happens a lot of the time. It embarrasses me, and from now on, I absolutely do not want to discuss it. The end. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.” That admission took a lot out of Stiles, more than he is happy to admit. He jumps up from the couch and mumbles something about needing a glass of water from the kitchen. Upon making his escape, he hears Derek say something to the room about ordering a couple pizzas for dinner and then hears footsteps stop behind from where he’s standing at the sink. “You did really great today. I think that went better than you thought, am I right?” Derek asks him. Stiles presses the cool glass of water he got himself against his forehead and nods. “It was better than I thought, but also harder in real life. I’m  _ exhausted _ .  Like, why am I so tired?” Stiles can feel an ache deep in his bones and a hollow in his chest where his emotions used to be. He feels like a husk that couldn’t drudge up a tear, even if he was watching that really sad dog commercial.  “Emotions take a toll on the body, especially when you’re not used to expressing them. Trust me. I would know,” Derek says with a lighthearted self deprecating smile. “I can’t handle any more of that tonight.” “That’s fine. I rented all three Iron Man films for this exact reason.  For the rest of the night, how about we just sit down and enjoy quality pack time?” Derek asks and honestly, nothing sounds better to Stiles.

 

For the rest of the night, they all cram onto various spaces in the living room.  Allison and Isaac continue to commandeer that love seat. Erica and Boyd somehow fit on his dad’s recliner.  Derek, Stiles, and Scott share the couch, with Stiles in the middle. Stiles mainly avoids veering too far into Scott and Derek’s respective places, but can’t help himself when Derek tells him it’s okay to lay his head in his lap.  Without asking, Stiles eventually kicks his feet on Scott’s lap in order to get more comfortable. For some reason, this seems to make Scott’s day and he just sits there for the rest of the second movie with a stupid grin on his face.  Stiles’ dad gets home from work when the end credits begin to roll. He just shoots Derek and Stiles a warm smile, grabs a slice of pizza that Stiles complains about, and heads to bed. When the final movie comes on, Stiles feels oddly relaxed for the first time in months.  The strings of the pack bond seem to glow in his chest and surround him with a warmth that he knows he’s been missing. Settling into that warmth, Stiles finds himself drifting off to sleep at the sounds of Tony Stark’s suit clicking into place.


	5. I couldn’t see you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching the Nun, I went to bed alone (with the lights on because I'm spooked by the dark sometimes tbh) and woke up with the lights off. I panicked because I'm a little paranoid to begin with. I cut the lights back on and fell asleep again (took me an hour). Later that night, I wake up standing in front of the light switch with all the lights off. I WAS SLEEP WALKING AND TURNING OFF THE LIGHTS. Those feelings of panic and skin crawling spookiness is what I want y'all to summon when reading the sleeping scene. I have those feelings. I feel like we've all been there at some point. 
> 
>  
> 
> ANYWAYS. Like always, I actively refused to edit this after writing it because I'm super lazy and hate second guessing every choice I've ever made. So, feel free to criticize my writing by commenting your least favorite part. (I'm not even joking, I love constructive criticism. AKA people doing the hard work for me. Pls hit me with it.)

Stiles wakes up to a firm hand grasping his shoulder and shaking  _ hard _ .  It takes him a moment to orient himself, but when he finally blinks the sleep from his eyes he can see that he’s laying on the floor of his living room with the entire pack surrounding him, concerned looks on their faces. “Um w-...what?” Stiles croaks out.  His throat is so dry that it kinda hurts to talk right now. The only thing he can think about is getting a drink of fucking water. “Stiles you freaked out dude!” Scott proclaims, tactful as always. “Wait, what? What time is it?” Stiles tries to get up from the couch, but everyone is crowding him and he can’t find purchase on the ground without touching someone.  “Can you guys get out of my face for a second? Damn.” “Stiles,” Derek finally speaks up from his place at Stiles’ feet, “It’s just past 1 am, but...Scott’s right. You sorta punched him in the face when he tried to move out from under you to leave.” Derek has a sheepish look on his face like this is somehow his fault. “Oh man, Scottie. I’m sorry man. I didn’t-” “No no it’s totally fine dude! It didn’t even hurt,” Scott says and gives Stiles a stupid grin.  Scott pulls Stiles to his feet with an outstretched hand and everyone backs off a little. “I’m used to sleeping by myself and I guess I just didn’t expect someone to touch me...I guess,” Stiles rambles out a little, cheeks burning bright pink. “That’s no problem, man. I get it.” Bless Scott and his kind soul. 

 

Because of the late hour, Stiles claps his hands together and says, “Well, thank you all for this super exciting evening.  I have had enough social interaction for the night. You guys can spend the night if you want, but we only have one spare bedroom with a queen bed and the couch pulls out so…” Stiles looks around at everyone to gauge if anyone actually intends to take him up on the halfhearted offer.  He’s trying with the pack, he really is. “Scott, Isaac, and I can share the queen if that’s okay with you guys,” Allison says to Erica and Boyd. “I’m cool with taking the couch. I’m not that tired anyways, so Boyd and I might watch another movie or something. We’ll keep the volume low,” she says assuredly and then asks Stiles where he keeps the spare blankets.  After getting a few for the couple, Stiles shows Scott, Isaac, and Allison to the guest bedroom on the first floor of the house. It was originally an office, so it’s pretty small. The queen bed and a small dresser barely fits in the space, but the bed is comfortable so he doubts they’ll complain.

 

Stiles starts to walk up the stairs to his own room when he hears someone clear their throat.  He turns from his spot on the stairs and sees Derek standing hesitantly at the bottom. “Oh shit.  I swear I didn’t forget about you, I just…” “Forgot about me?” Derek jokes lightheartedly. “Yeah,” Stiles replies and huffs out a small laugh. He brushes a nervous hand through his hair and blurts out, “I have a sleeping bag in my closet! You can sleep in my room.” Derek just raises an eyebrow at the outburst and waves his hands to shoo Stiles up the staircase. 

 

Stiles is having an internal freak out. Derek. Hale. In his room. Sleeping. Wow.  Stiles hasn’t decided if this is a dream or if this is another nightmare. They trudge up the stairs, careful not to wake his father that is sleeping in his room down the hall.  When they get to Stiles’ room, Stiles opens the door with a flourish and lets Derek walk in first. Derek has obviously been in his room before, so it’s not really anything special.  Derek just hasn’t been invited into his room. This is the first time Stiles is willingly bringing Derek, or another male in general besides Scott and his dad, into his space. 

 

“So, in here?” Derek points at his half open closet door curiously and walks over to open it further.  “Yep! It’s on top rack. You should see it.” Derek nods and pulls a cheap blue sleeping bag from the closet.  Without another word, Derek begins to fluff out the bag and lay it on the floor on Stiles’ side of the bed. “Do you, uh, need like pajamas or something? Jeans seem like not the greatest thing to sleep in, man.” Stiles shoves his hands into his own jeans pockets and leans against his now closed bedroom door.   “I could use some different pants, but I don’t know if yours would fit,” Derek replies and continues to fluff up the sleeping bad, probably trying to get the smell of dusty closet off of it. 

 

Derek is right though.  Stiles is not skinny anymore. He’s more of a pleasantly lean, lightly muscled shape now that he’s been working on the house.  Lifting boards is harder than he thought. However, Stiles has a slim waist and Derek has an ass that Sir Mix-A-Lot would be jealous of.  Before Stiles can help himself, he blurts, “No pants! Oh jeez, I mean, you can sleep in your boxers if you want. I do sometimes, so ya know, no biggie.” Stiles shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to be nonchalant, but he knows his heartbeat is out of control and embarrassed arousal is permeating his scent. Derek just smiles at him. “Trying to get me to take my clothes off, Stiles?” Derek jokes.  Stiles almost has a legitimate heart attack with the way it jumps in his chest. He’s trying to sputter out a response because  _ yes he is totally trying to get Derek’s clothes off _ , when Derek interrupts him. “Relax. I’m kidding.” Instead of digging himself an even deeper hole, Stiles just busies himself with getting ready for bed.

 

A few minutes later, after a trip to the bathroom, Stiles enters his room in a fresh pair of sweatpants and no shirt. Derek seems to have already hunkered down in the sleeping bag for the night because his clothes are folded neatly on Stiles’ desk. Hmm. No shirt for Derek either. Stiles can handle that. Instead of ogling Derek’s semi-naked form that’s mostly covered in blue sleeping bad, Stiles just steps over Derek and crawls into his bed.  After a few minutes of laying there in excruciating silence, Stiles asks “Do you need a pillow?” Derek sits up on his elbows and looks at Stiles. Even though the light is off, the soft glow of Stiles’ nightlight makes it possible for them to see each other. “If you have one to spare.” “Always the self-sacrificing type,” Stiles jokes without his usual snark and throws a pillow lightly at Derek’s head. Instead of replying, Derek just snatches the pillow out of the air with reflexes that Stiles could never match and plops back down onto his makeshift bed. “Your welcome,” Stiles snorts and buries himself into his favorite pillow.  

 

Minutes pass.  Dull, boring, and incredibly awkward minutes for Stiles.  He can just  _ feel _ Derek laying there, in his space. Sure, Derek is like three feet away from him, but it’s still enough to make Stiles squirm.  He’s not used to sleeping with other people in the same room. The nap earlier was brought on by intense emotional exhaustion, so he didn’t even have to try to sleep. Now, Stiles’ skin is itching at knowing there is a person there that he can’t see.  Stiles turns over a few times in a useless attempt to shake the feeling of eyes on his skin. He knows that he’s being paranoid. Derek is not the lurking creep that he used to be. He’s not standing in the corner of his room to scare Stiles like he used to.  He’s laying on the floor, nice and chill, and being a polite guest. No biggie, right?

 

Wrong. Thirty minutes later, Stiles still isn’t asleep.  He can’t shake the feeling that’s keeping him from drifting off to sleep. It feels like a searing cold sensation at the center of his chest that’s drawing the heat from the rest of his body.  He’s curled up tightly in a ball, with his blankets tucked firmly around himself. Not an inch of skin below his chin is exposed. The blankets are a small, mostly useless comfort. He still feels exposed.  The fear building in his chest is slowly leeching the warmth from the tips of his fingers and toes. He knows he’s panicking for no reason, that his fears are non-corporeal and imagined, but he can’t help it when the hair on his arms bristles when a light wind outside makes his window creak.  Stiles’ breath starts to come just a little faster, so he curls into himself even tighter in a weak attempt to stave off the panic that feels like bile rising in his throat. 

 

Before his mind can trick him fully into a panic attack, Stiles hears a creak beside his bed.  He  _ definitely _ almost has a heart attack when he sees Derek’s head pop up from beside his bed, face now level with his own.  Derek’s hair is slightly disheveled and his cheeks are slightly pink with sleep. “What’s wrong? I smelled panic,” Derek croaks out. His mouth is dry from his short time asleep. Stiles immediately feels guilty. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” Derek cocks an eyebrow at Stiles, likely hearing the lie in his heartbeat. “You don’t have to lie to me, Stiles. If something is wrong, I want to help if I can,” Derek whispers. His voice is calming. Seeing him and hearing his voice is chasing away the feeling of  _ being watched _ that Stiles knows was irrational to feel in the first place.  Stiles  _ knows  _ it’s Derek there because he can see him. He can hear him. He can feel the light tickle of air on his face when Derek speaks. It’s comforting because there’s no more unknown. Stiles gulps at the expectant look on Derek’s face and stays tightly wound in his blankets.  “I-um...I couldn’t see you,” Stiles breathes out, voice almost too soft for even Derek’s wolf ears to pick up. “You couldn’t see me?” Derek doesn’t look judgmental with the question, just a little confused. It’s almost like he’s not sure that he heard Stiles correctly. “Yeah. I didn’t know it would be a problem until it, ya know, was,” Stiles states lamely. He untangles himself from the cocoon he created with a sigh. Laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he can’t find it within himself to explain any further.  “Do you need me to go? I can definitely go if I’m making you uncomfortable. It’s not a problem.” “No!” Stiles exclaims with a slight jump. He’s no longer laying on his back, but he’s rolled over to face Derek with one arm lifting him slightly up from the bed. Derek leans back a little, not in shock, but just to give Stiles some space. Their faces still end up just inches apart. “Sorry. I just don’t want to be alone now. I worked myself up a little.” The thought of Derek leaving seems worse than him staying. He knows that the minute that he’s alone, the remains of the fear he had before will grow beyond his control. “Okay,” Derek says with a small jerk of his head, “I can share the bed if that makes it easier for you.  You can see me that way. I won’t touch you, but I can handle a punch if it happens.” Derek has a kind smile on his face, so Stiles knows he’s joking. Fear seizes up in his chest anyways. “But what about, you know…” Stiles picks at his mattress and gestures vaguely to the bed, unable to form the words. Derek shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I’m going to need a shower in the morning anyways.” From their time spent together these last few weeks, Stiles knows that Derek isn’t lying. If he says he’s okay with something, he’s okay with it. “Alright,” Stiles relents, “You gotta sleep on the other side, though. This is my side.” Derek stands up from his crouched position by his bedside and walks silently to the other side of his bed.  Stiles rolls over to face him as Derek slides himself under the blankets. 

 

Now, Stiles’ bed is big enough that they won’t touch, but Stiles tends to move in his sleep unless under the influence of his personal sleep paralysis demon. Derek, being the utter gentleman that he is now, is laying so still and flat on his back that, frankly, he looks a little dead. Unable to stop himself, Stiles blurts, “You can touch me, if you want.  You don’t have to be so...still.” In response, Derek gives a small nod that’s almost imperceptible in the soft glow of the nightlight. Stiles doesn’t say anything in return. Derek makes no move towards him, so Stiles turns away from him. He’s happy that Derek can’t see his face because it’s currently glowing red with embarrassment. He’s so caught up in his own self imposed misery that he doesn’t feel Derek move until strong, warm arms wrap around him and a scruffy face buries into the back of his neck. Stiles almost has  _ another _ Derek induced heart attack. Seriously. This guy is going to be the death of him.  

  
Derek related heart attacks aside, Stiles immediately feels better. His body knows that Derek is a protector. His protector. They’ve saved each other a million times, so the weight of Derek’s arms around his waist make him feel safe in a way that simply  _ seeing _ Derek doesn’t. Stiles still has that itching sensation he has every time he tries to sleep. This isn’t fiction.  His problems aren’t immediately solved by being the little spoon. However, knowing that he doesn’t have to face the night alone, Stiles eases into his dreams faster than ever.


End file.
